So I've started this book (another one! x.x) and would love some opinions and critiques. c:
I'll post chapters infrequently.
[for my own reference Edit]

Chapter 2 Enjoy! c:

If anyone would like to beta read the whole draft, as it's now complete, just shoot me a PM and I'll be happy to let you. I'm really hoping to get it rewritten and polished as much as possibly to give it to my mum for her birthday, so any other opinions would be fantastic. Thanks.
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Naameh:

A world where you are known to all, yet known by none. A harsh world, unforgiving. Just as readily punishes as it rewards. That is the world to which I was born. The world I live in. The world that refuses to let me go, despite what I wish with all my heart.
I wish I could leave.
When I venture on the streets, I get stares, and bows. Curtseys from the women. They part for me, allowing me a free, uncluttered path through the streets. Children, dirty and hungry, but oh so alive, run ahead of me, clearing the worst of the mess so that I won’t put my precious feet in the muck.
I wish I could tell them not to.
But what I wish, what I want, doesn’t matter in this world. Nothing does. Except for what the people believe. They believe that I am a witch, a seer, an oracle, a goddess. Come to help them; to answer their prayers; to give them life again, a reason to have that life.
I don’t know.
I’ve never felt anything. Nothing. Not what they say I can do, not the whispered rumours in the dark of what I might do. Yes, I can light a fire without touching the wood. Yes, I can encourage a plant to grow from seed to flower in a few minutes. Yes, I can stir the air; make it dance, make it come alive with music and light. Yes, I can bring a gentle rain, nourishing those who need it.
I can do all those things.
But cause a storm? No. Raise the dead? Also no. Bewitch a man? It would be interesting, but no. Speak with the gods? Again, no.
I can’t.
Whenever I walk the streets, I am never alone. My guards trail me – at a respectful distance, of course. To keep me safe, they say. The streets are dangerous, they say. I’m a target, they say. So they come with me, and shatter the chances I have of meeting the people on the streets. The children who stare with wide eyes until parents nudge them. How I wish I could speak to them; learn of their hopes and dreams; play with them for a while. The women who curtsey and think that I don’t notice their envious glances at my clothing, my hair. How I wish I could swap with them; learn what it is like to be in their place. The men who bow, not even trying to hide their appreciation of my body, my beauty. How I wish I could give it away; to learn what it is like to be plain and dull, never catching anyone’s attention.
I wonder.
I wonder why I was born into this world. Why I was almost cursed with my gifts. Gifts of power and beauty, of wealth and riches. Why the gods saw fit to give this to me, when I do nothing.
Nothing.
I wish, for even just one day, that I could be forgotten. That I could venture outside on my own. No guards, no rich clothing. No way I could be recognised. Then maybe, I can understand. Maybe, I can understand their way of living, of working for their food, for their clothes, for their children. Working for their families.
I don’t work.
I never have. Never had to buy my food, buy my clothes. Never had to work. I suppose, perhaps in a past life, I once did. Maybe that’s why I remember it. The feeling of something new; of something homemade. I wish I could experience it again.
But I can’t.
They say my destiny is to help the people; to show them the way to the light. That it is why I am kept away from them, shut away in the temple. So I won’t get hurt, they say. But in a world where I am known to all, yet known by none, I don’t understand how that is possible.
Don’t I have to know the people to help them?